The Pond in Winter
togets
tout fear-naughe
sural lore as tizen is in artificial.
ted ell much less
tice are said not
yet to be known. h grown perch
for bait. You look into o a summer pond,
as if summer locked up at home, or knew where she had
retreated. ter? O
of rotten logs since t
tself passes deeper in nature tudies of
turalist penetrate; for turalist. the
latter raises tly h his knife in search of
insects; to th his axe, and
moss and bark fly far and wide. s his living by barking
trees. Suc to fiso see nature
carried out in he pickerel
she pickerel; and so
all the scale of being are filled.
rolled around ty imes
amused by tive mode wed.
he narrow holes in
t and an equal distance
from tened to a stick
to prevent its being pulled the slack line over
a t or more above tied a dry
oak leaf to it, which, being pulled down, would show when he had a
bite. t at regular intervals as
you walked he pond.
Ahe ice, or
in ts in ttle
o admit ter, I am aly,
as if to treets,
even to to our Concord life. they
possess a quite dazzling and transcendent beauty wes
terval from the cadaverous cod and haddock whose
fame is trumpeted in our streets. t green like the
pines, nor gray like tones, nor blue like t they
o my eyes, if possible,